Chasing Demons
by Dala1
Summary: (L/R) That abandoned military complex at Alkali Lake turns out to be *not* so abandoned . . .


Disclaimer: Me no own, Marvel no sue. Comprehend?  
Author's Note: This takes the tiny bit of what I know about the Weapon X storyline, puts in in movieverse, and basically screws around with it.   
  
  
  
Rogue:  
  
You know when you've been on a ship for a really long time, and your body's grown so used to the motion of the sea that you don't realize it until you step off, and then you can hardly walk?  
  
That's what it felt like when Logan left.   
  
Sure, I knew why he had to go and I was grateful for the dogtags he pressed into my fingers, but the moment I lost sight of him through the door I felt like a piece of me had been torn out. And he was such a big piece that I felt I wouldn't be able to go on.  
  
So even though I turned and walked back to Bobby and St. John, and took up our fooseball game again, my heart wasn't in it. It was on a motorcycle, headed for Canada.  
  
  
Logan:  
  
I had to call. I ignored the compulsion for hours, but the memory of her face, her voice saying "I don't want you to go" . . . eventually I found myself at a pay phone, squinting at the little piece of paper.  
  
This was Xavier's line, but I figured he could put me through to her. All I needed was to talk to her for a few minutes, to hear her voice again, to have her tell me that I was doing the right thing.  
  
"Charles Xavier."  
  
"Hey Chuck."  
  
"Logan!" I could imagine the professor's benevolent face breaking into a smile. "Where are you?"  
  
"I just crossed the border. Listen, I . . . can I speak to Rogue?" Wincing inwardly, I spit the last part out in a rush.  
  
His hesitation was barely noticeable. "Of course, I'll put you through to her room."  
  
Drumming my fingers on the phone, which was covered in nasty-smelling gum, I waited as it rang. Pick up, I thought impatiently.  
  
Then I heard a beep. "Hello!" chorused three giggling girls, and I groaned. "You've reached Jubilee, Kitty, and Rogue, but none of us is here right now. So leave a message and we'll get back to you!  
  
"Eventually," one of them said, and I recognized it as Rogue, and smiled. The other two cracked up, and then the answering machine beeped.  
  
I tried to think of something to say. Witty? Clever? Friendly? Angry? Distant?  
  
Not able to decide, I finally muttered, "Hey," and hung up.  
  
Glaring at the pay phone, I considered calling back and having Xavier wipe the message off. But I didn't want the bastard prying into my head, trying to figure out why I couldn't think of anything else to say. So I returned to the bike and continued north.  
  
  
  
Rogue:  
  
We got back from the movies around ten or so. Jubes was bitching that St. John had singed her jacket, and Kitty was complaining of a headache induced by the repeated gunshots during the movie.  
  
"That's the last time we let the boys pick a movie," she groaned, flopping down on her bed. I nodded in agreement and sat cross-legged on my own, picking up Pride and Prejudice. I was supposed to finish it by third period tomorrow, and I was only halfway through.  
  
Jubilee pounced on the answering machine, seeing its light blinking. "I wonder who called while we were out." She pressed the button, and for a moment there was only silence, and then a short, quiet, single syllable.  
  
She looked up, puzzled, and hit rewind. "Probably some sicko calling a random number to breath over the phone."  
  
"But our number isn't listed," Kitty protested.  
  
I knew who it was, and I pushed past Jubilee and knelt on the floor next to the machine. Pressing play, I heard it clearly this time: Logan, saying "Hey."  
  
I could feel the silly grin stretching across my face, no matter how I tried to stop it. My obnoxious roommates noticed and began crowing.  
  
"That was Logan, wasn't it?"  
  
"Rogue's got a crush on the Wolverine!"  
  
"You like him! You likelikelike him!"  
  
"Shut up!" I threw a pillow at Jubilee and glared daggers at Kitty.  
  
Jubes checked her perfectly manicured nails. "Don't try to deny it, girlfriend. I saw the way those green eyes of yours lit up."  
  
"Bite me," I muttered, stalking over to my bed.  
  
"I think you'd rather have *him* bite you," Kitty tittered, and I burrowed under the covers, trying to ignore them.  
  
Sleep didn't come, and it wasn't because Jubilee chose then to blast pop music on the stereo. I was running through my list of memories of Logan: how fierce and strong he had looked in the cage in Canada; his terrified eyes when he awoke to find me impaled on his claws; the warmth of his arm as he held me on the train.  
  
"I'll take care of you," he had said, and I believed him. So where was he now? Was he downstairs playing pool with Ororo and Scott? Was he smoking cigars in the kitchen, giving everyone who complained dirty looks? Was he waiting in his room, eager to hear about my day and to tell me about his?  
  
The rush of doubt and misery flooded through me, and I began to cry. Quiet as I was, they heard me, and the music was turned off. Both girls crowded behind me, and Kitty whispered, "Rogue? Are you okay?"  
  
"Yes," I said thickly, my chest tight with tears. "I'm fine."  
  
"You sure?" That was Jubilee, her hand on my shoulder. "You don't want to talk about . . . anything?"  
  
I tucked the blankets more securely around me. "No thanks. I just want to go to sleep." I could tell they weren't satisfied, but both of them turned reluctantly away and went to their own beds. The room was quiet now, and the silence of it only rubbed the ache in my heart raw.  
  
He wasn't here. He didn't care enough to be here. And maybe he was never coming back.  
  
  
  
Logan:  
  
When I pulled into the ruins of Alkali Lake, I felt a sudden clench of panic. I should've paid attention to it, and turned right back around. Back to Xavier's place. Back to my girl.  
  
But I was aching to know the secrets of this place--I *had* to know, once and for all, if there was anything to learn. I started toward the remains of the enormous steel building, thoroughly creeped out. The place was like a ghost town. I expected to see baleful red eyes peering at me from among the trees.  
  
It smelled like fire, and a pretty recent one at that. I was immediately suspicious. If this place had been abandoned for years, who the hell would want to burn it?  
  
Maybe others like me, I thought suddenly. Maybe there were others out there from this place, others who'd been experimented on and tortured, and so would have a reason to raze the site.  
  
Only the front part of it was torn down, as though someone had taken a gigantic knife and cleanly sliced off a piece. It was two stories aboveground, and I shuddered as I saw the rooms over my head, complete with medical tables and supplies. I stepped over what was once the threshold.   
  
I guess it took me so long to know they were there because I couldn't smell much besides the fire. I only detected people about two second before a net was thrown over me, and then another, and another. I popped my claws and tried to cut myself free, but to my horror it didn't work.  
  
The nets were made of ultrafine adamantium.  
  
Sickness twisted inside my head. I could remember this, or at least some incident very much like it.  
  
*Experiment X . . . adamantium bonding process . . . have some more champagne, senator . . . subject exhibiting dangerous . . . memory wipe scheduled . . . the Weapon X operation has been successful . . .*  
  
I roared in terror and agony as the voices and half-memories rushed through me. Blindly I beat my fists into the metal net, but only tore them into bloody shreds.  
  
"Inject the sedative."  
  
That one. The many layers of net prevented me from seeing him, and my shattered memory couldn't dredge up his face, but I would know the stink anywhere.   
  
I growled unintelligibly and lashed out--or tried to--as the needle was inserted   
somewhere in my left leg. It went numb, and soon so did the rest of my body, and I welcomed it as I slipped into unconsciousness.  
  
  
Rogue:  
  
It was Logan's nightmare, of course--I hardly had any of my own these days. But it felt like mine, as though we were one person, and what they were doing to him, they were doing to me . . .   
  
I know I screamed, and I felt Kitty and Jubilee shaking me awake, trying to avoid coming into contact with my skin. I knew all this, knew that I was only dreaming, but still my eyes were closed and I refused to wake up. I was getting pretty damn sick of having the exact same cryptic dream. I'd read about lucid dreaming, where you try to control what's in your head, and now was as good a time as any to try it out. So I sank deeper into the cold metallic vision, trying to see clearly.  
  
It worked, for just a second. I wasn't Logan any longer, I was Rogue again, and I could see him on the table, but not as he usually appeared with all their sinister plans worked out on his skin--he was wearing his jacket . . .  
  
And I woke up.  
  
Jubes collapsed on my bed in relief. "Geez, Rogue, I thought you were gonna croak from that one!"  
  
Kitty looked at me sadly. "Same dream?"  
  
I sighed. "Tune in tomorrow night for our next installment of 'Rogue's A Fucking Lunatic.' At least it wasn't David dreaming about some hot chick."  
  
Humor having the desired effect, both of them left me alone. I curled up to complete the nightly ritual: a good, cleansing, self-pitying cry.  
  
  
Logan:  
  
What? Where? My head . . . what have they done? Why can't I move?  
  
"Waking up," came a female voice. Hell, if only that could be Jean, and me spread out on the table in the underground of the mansion, getting patched up again . . .   
  
But she wasn't, and I wasn't. Slowly opening my eyes, I took in the woman standing near me: studious, with short dark hair. She wasn't looking at me. I tried to raise my arms, but they were pinned down. Adamantium, I'd bet. The electrodes on my skin felt prickly, and my eyes shifted to see a monitor beside me.   
  
It wasn't a clear memory, nothing like that, but nevertheless, this was giving me major déjà vu.   
  
Then *he* came closer, peering down at me dispassionately. Tall, skeletal, balding, with a really large head and glasses perched on a thin nose. A face I'd tried to remember in dreams for fifteen years. The other was there, too--the heavier bearded man.  
  
I pulled harder at my restraints. They only smiled at the hatred in my eyes.  
  
"Give him another sedative, Ms. Hines."  
  
The woman picked up a needle. "Don't do this," I pleaded, my tongue almost too thick to get out the words. She didn't have the same air of danger as the other two. She was innocent here, and probably as much a prisoner as me.  
  
Though she looked at me worriedly and seemed to hesitate, eventually she stuck the needle in my arm, and I passed out again.  
  
I'm still not sure exactly how long I was there; time sort of lost its meaning. When I rested or ate, I did so in an adamantium cage, and I quickly gave up the feelings of indignity it initially stirred. The rest of my time was spent being tested, either on a medical table or against an opponent--or two, or ten. Sometimes they threw robots at me, sometimes other mutants: I stopped noticing. I was beyond humanity. I ate what was put in front of me, killed whatever creature was on the list for the day, slept when I had ten minutes' peace. The only time I remembered I was a man was during sleep, in dreams. Dreams of her.  
  
  
Rogue:  
  
They got steadily worse for about two weeks. I no longer woke up screaming, because in each dream I tried to go just a little deeper, just a bit further down a hall. I saw Logan in pain, Logan angry, Logan fighting like a well-oiled machine. It was during one dream, a particularly long one which I struggled to stay inside, that I saw him weep. He too was asleep, curled up in a metal cage, naked and dreaming. I don't know he what was dreaming about, but when I woke up I had tears on my own eyelashes.  
  
That was when it hit me. These were not normal dreams. They were true. Everything I'd seen in them had happened, was happening right now, to Logan.  
  
I should've run down the hallway to Scott and Jean, to the professor. They would have been on the Blackbird in five minutes, ready to blast off and bring him back. But I could focus on nothing but Logan, my thoughts ruthless in their single-mindedness. I knew where he was. I could bring him back myself.   
  
So I dressed quickly, swathing myself in many warm layers, and took a Jeep from the garage. I had been driving for less than a year, but I had the roads all to myself this late at night.  
  
Later they told me that Xavier sensed my absence just before dawn, and that he did assemble the team and send them after me as fast as the jet could fly. But by then it was too late.  
  
Rogue the hero. Yeah right. Heroes don't get caught the second they meet their enemy.  
  
  
Logan:  
  
I was dozing fitfully when the intense lights flickered on. Blinking, I looked up and gasped in panic at what I saw.  
  
She was there, unconscious, dangling from the doctor's arms like a rag doll.  
  
The professor grinned, pleased at this turn of events. If I could've gotten out of that cage, he wouldn't have drawn half a breath. As it was, I made a few scratches with my hacking at the bars. The assistant, Carol, looked more fretful than ever, but she trotted obediently after the two men.  
  
Apparently just wanting me to know they had her, they dragged Rogue out of the little antechamber where I was kept. My eyes lingered on the closed door for a long time after, desperately trying to follow. Why the hell had she come down here by herself? Where was the team? How had they let her do this?  
  
One question was answered about an hour later. I heard the sound of shrieking metal, and three familiar figures popped through the blasted-open door.  
  
"Never thought I'd be so glad to see you, Cyke," I muttered in greeting.  
  
"Same here," he said in a tight voice. "Where's Rogue?"  
  
I tried very hard not to let the despair show up in my voice, but I know Jean at least noticed. "They've got her."  
  
He nodded once, assessed the cage, and said, "Don't move."  
  
Several very fine beams shot out within seconds, carving a hole for me to step through. "Thanks," I said, impressed with his control.  
  
Jean pointed to the door, her brow furrowed with concentration. "She's that way."  
  
The four of us set off in the direction she indicated, me trying not to collapse.  
  
  
Rogue:  
  
When I woke up, I tried my damnedest to get free, I really did. Even got in a good kick to Four Eyes' gut. But the bigger guy hit me on the spine, shocking the air out of me, and I fell to the floor.   
  
"Behave yourself, girlie," he ordered. Blind with rage, I wished very badly that I hadn't put on so many clothes. I didn't think he'd have the upper hand with the life drained out of him. Another voice swimming in my head would be well worth freedom.  
  
They put me on a jet, its design similar to the Blackbird's. The black-haired woman strapped me into a seat while I was still weak from the blow.  
  
"Please," I whispered, breathing raggedly. "You don't have to do this!"  
  
She merely looked at me sadly and turned away.  
  
  
Logan:  
  
My eyes were lying. Some drug they'd given me was making me hallucinate. I had not just seen Marie being taken away by those monsters.  
  
Scott blasted futilely as the aircraft drifted out of sight, and Storm called up the biggest gale I've ever seen. Nothing did any good.  
  
When it finally disappeared, I could feel the others turn to me in apprehension, afraid of what this would do to me in such a delicate state.  
  
Delicate, my ass. I was perfectly clear-headed. We were going to go back to the jet and fly home. Then Xavier would tell us where she was, and we'd go rescue her. Like she'd tried to rescue me. It was that simple.  
  
We got half of it right, anyway.  
  
  
Rogue:  
  
He was in my head.   
  
That was the first thing I became aware of. Retreating into my mind, fleeing the cold grip, I cried out to the Logan in there, and even the Magneto, to help me out. Logan filled me with rage and Erik gave me a sense of powerlessness, sort of 'see how it feels?'. But neither they nor I could do anything to stop it.  
  
The agony went on for a few minutes, and then there was . . . silence. I mean that literally. I could see the two men in front of me talking, followed the motion of their lips, but I couldn't hear a thing. I searched for my own heartbeat, but it wasn't a deafening sound in my ears as it had been a moment ago.  
  
The tall one turned to me then, the one who'd been inside my head. Though I still couldn't hear, I saw his mouth form the word "Stand." And I stood.  
  
What? I cried silently. What'm I doing? This is crazy!  
  
But I was under his power, and had to obey. I had to appreciate the simplicity of it, the lack of hassle--no one had to waste energy in pinning me to the medical table, I lay down on it myself, and I didn't struggle as the straps were fastened around me. Nor did I flinch when the instruments hummed closer, or scream when I felt the first prick.  
  
Not out loud, anyway. Inside I was locked in a perpetual wail of terror.  
  
  
Logan:  
  
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. That was exactly what I could do. Nothing.  
  
I'd never seen Xavier so upset. He had dredged up the little information he could--the tall one was unidentified, only addressed as the professor in my presence, but apparently he was a big telepath too. Figures. The other guy was Dr. Abraham Cornelius, a wanted criminal.  
  
"Fantastic," I growled. "This is bad, but not impossible. Why can't you use Cerebro to find out where they've taken Rogue?"  
  
He shook his head, and it was Jean who answered. "This man is very powerful, Logan. We can't sense him."  
  
"We'll do everything we can to look for her," Ororo said softly. Dammit, I was tired of these quiet little voices. Everyone was trying not to notice that this had happened again, that because of me she had been kidnapped, and I couldn't take them walking on eggshells around me because they knew how dangerous I could be.   
  
The grass by the lake didn't know how dangerous I was, much to its misfortune. But I stopped tearing at it after only a few minutes. I could imagine her sitting her at this spot, enjoying the quiet, and I didn't want to ruin her grass. So I returned to my room and settled in, surrounded by six-packs. I needed a good buzz, and because of my healing factor it takes a lot more alcohol for that to happen than it does for most people. To drink, and to sleep without nightmares--those were the two goals foremost in my mind.   
  
Then there was a soft knock at the door. I considered throwing a bottle at it, but that would be rude, and if I decided to be rude to a person, I just might use all this pent-up fury to therapeutically pummel them. And Xavier would not like that.  
  
So I swept the beer under the bed and went to answer the door.  
  
"Hey." It was that Asian girl, chewing gum as always. And the quiet one was right behind her--Katie or something.  
  
Her friends. I couldn't deal with this.  
  
"What do you want?" My voice was low, threatening, but I guess that has no effect on teenage girls. The first one--Jubilee--charged into my room and plopped herself down at my desk, flipping on the lights. Katie followed her and sat on the floor.  
  
I sighed. Even though murder was not an option, I had the feeling nothing else would work.  
  
"We want to know what happened," said Jubilee, a surprising note of steel in her voice. This kid wasn't used to being pushed around, and I could respect that.  
  
So I crossed to the other chair and sat backwards across it. Staring at the wall, I repeated the tale in a monotone.  
  
"So what do we do now?" Jubilee had stopped popping her gum; I suppose she swallowed it.  
  
"*We* don't do anything. You girls are going back to bed, and I am leaving tomorrow."  
  
"She hated you for leaving, you know," said the soft-spoken girl.   
  
Jubilee nodded, glaring at me. She no doubt blamed me for what had happened. Hell, I blamed myself. Any sensible person would. "She cried at night, when she thought we were sleeping."  
  
I didn't respond.  
  
Katie's eyes filled with tears. "She really loved you."  
  
Her friend looked down at her angrily. "Don't talk like that, Kitty!" *Kitty*, I corrected myself mentally. "Rogue's not dead. We'll find her again. Won't we?" The wide eyes trained on me again, and the girl's absolute conviction was enough to make me sweat.  
  
"Yes," I said simply. "Now will you please go?"  
  
They exited the room as quickly as they had entered, and I turned the lights back out. Peering at the beer in the darkness, I sat for motionless for awhile.  
  
Then I got into bed, leaving the bottles where they were, and slept. Luckily it was dreamless, and long.  
~~~~~~~~  
In the weeks after, Jubilee and Kitty attached themselves to me. They followed me around for the same reason, I guess, that I let them: each of us wanted to hang onto a piece of Rogue, to an aspect of her life that we hadn't been a part of. For me it was her friends, for Jubilee and Kitty it was the man she loved. They were good kids, really, but they went off to college a few months later. I missed my shadows, although the other team members were careful to try and include me in their lives; they were afraid that I would simply up and leave one day. And the truth is, that's the first thought I had every morning. But then I would think, what if it's today, what if today is the day one of our leads follows through, what if tomorrow she comes home and I'm not here?  
  
The leads were how I got to be a real member of the team. Every now and then there'd be a rumor, a whispered sighting of a Southern girl who just might have dark hair with a white streak through it, and I would always be there to pursue them. As false hope followed false hope, though, I began to involve myself in other missions as well. It wasn't really a gradual thing--one day I just showed up at the professor's office when I knew he was having a meeting, and went with Scott, Jean, and Storm in the Blackbird. It was a hell of a rush to learn how to fly that mother, too.  
  
It was five years I spent like that, five years that sound longer than they were. Hey, I spent fifteen years wandering around Canada by myself; a third of that time wasn't really so much.  
  
Still, when the day finally came that put an end to those five years, I welcomed it. That old assistant Carol Hines showed up at the mansion's door one morning, looking spooked but determined. She gave us the location of the professor's lab, in a small French village, and apologized profusely for her part in the whole thing. I forgave her, of course; blood would be shed by me, but not Carol's .  
  
Getting into a uniform, I felt less than I should have--I guess after so long, the hope was really just a pretense. Still, this time it wasn't just a lead; we knew for certain where she was.  
If they had kept her alive.  
  
  
Rogue:  
  
I still can't believe how long it was.  
  
The professor, in his control over my mind, had managed to keep my powers from affecting others, which left me open to more creative torture. He also blocked a lot of my memories, generally a good thing. I can remember pain, and strange fluids, and rape, and needles, and I can remember being forced to take lives. A person would be shoved into my cell, wondering what was to fear from a skinny little girl, and I would be compelled to touch them. None of the personalities in my head had a lasting effect, though, like the others I'd absorbed previously. Why this was, I have no idea . . . but there was a lot we would never learn about the men who held me and Logan captive at different times.  
  
He was really what got me through it all. Sometimes a delusion would be strong enough to make me feel his arms around me, his hands caressing my hair, telling me everything would be alright. I believed the dream-Logan as much as I believed the real one, and I always knew he'd come for me. It was an unshakable faith--naïve, maybe, but comforting.  
  
And when Carol got away, I knew it was only a matter of time. God, they were really angry--the professor screamed and kicked things and the doctor took out his frustration on me. I had to force a smile off my face, hearing him scream about 'that little NASA bitch'. She was a good person, and I knew she'd go directly to the X-Men. And then they would come for me, Logan included.  
  
  
Logan:  
  
That jet-ride to the lab constisted of the longest fucking hours of my life.   
  
We set down on the roof, barely fitting; the place was smaller than Alkali Lake, but there were other mutants here. In fact, we were met by a big blue one the second we stepped inside. A hostile big blue guy. I snarled and grappled with him for a few moments, until Jean yelled, "Get the collar off, Logan!" I twisted and snapped the blinking metal thing with one claw, and immediately the stranger stopped struggling.  
  
"Thank you, friend," he said, getting to his feet and offering a hand. I accepted his help and stepped back, letting Scott take over in his fearless leader mode.  
  
"I'm Cyclops, this is Jean Grey, Storm, and Wolverine," he said to Big Blue, nodding to each of us in turn. I tugged on my leather collar impatiently. Marie was here somewhere, even if I couldn't smell her yet, and we were wasting time.  
  
"Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Dr. Henry McCoy," he said in this utterly refined voice.  
  
"Great," I interrupted curtly. "Listen, we're looking for this girl, she's got dark hair with a white streak--"  
  
"Ah, you mean the young Rogue. She's in Cell A4, down the hall . . . oh dear," he muttered as alarms began to blare. "I do believe we're going to attract some attention." Sure enough, I could hear shouting around the corner.   
  
Turning to Scott, I said, "You hold 'em off, I'm going after her."  
  
He was not happy about this, and started to tell me so. But if Visorboy thought he was going to pull rank on *this* mission, he had another thought coming. I took off down the hall, ignoring his shout.  
~~~~~~~~  
"Welcome, Logan." That pleasant, cultivated voice sent a current of rancor through me. I lunged at the professor, and was astonished to find myself frozen in midair.  
  
She stood next to him, one hand stretched towards me. It was her leftover of Magneto's power that was holding me in place, controlling the metal running through my bones.  
  
I looked up at her, and saw that behind her eyes, there was panic and fear. So she was being controlled. Yet another strike against these people.  
  
I strained against her hold, inching forward because it was only vestigial, just a fraction of what the original gift had been. The professor shook his head and clucked.   
  
"Naughty lad," he said. "We should have kept you in our grasp; you would have been so interesting to continue working on."  
  
"Fuck you," I gritted.  
  
He ignored me and waved one hand at Rogue. "Pick up the knife, dear." Entranced, she reached to the table beside me and took a slim little knife. I gulped as, moving very slowly, she brought it to her own throat.  
  
"You may release him," the man said mildly. I fell forward, shrugging my shoulders in relief, and stood still. He knew very well that I wouldn't try anything, not when he could make her off herself at any moment.  
  
But surely she was strong enough to shake his control . . .   
  
  
Rogue:  
  
I shook with fear and impotent rage, holding a deadly blade against my own pulse. Logan was panicked, but not without ideas. He looked at me, wild-eyed and desperate. "If Magneto's still in there, Marie, so am I!" And he crumpled to the ground as Cornelius swung a hammer into his head.  
  
I knew what he meant--his healing powers could still be a part of me, if Erik's metal was. But I had to do it quickly, before the professor realized, and I had to trust that it would actually work.  
  
Focusing on Logan in front of me, I delved deep and called up the parts of him that were twined inside me. Not just his healing ability, but *him*--his pride, his strength, his wandering soul, his joy in speed, his sense of humor, his courage, his rare smile, and his love. Most of all, his love.  
  
It was enough. I thrust it all at the mental grip on my mind, and broke it with a near-audible snap. The knife clattered on the cold green tiles.  
  
The professor staggered back, and I leapt at him, prepared to suck the bastard dry. But Logan was conscious again, and he shouted at me to stop. I swayed, disoriented after my bout of adrenaline. He socked the doctor, probably hard enough to kill, and sliced the professor's head clean off. The bony man didn't even have time to scream.   
  
I had to admire his technique, even as I fainted into his arms.  
~~~~~~~~  
In the past five years, I'd often been awakened by voices while lying on white sheets. But these were so pleasant to my ears that I wanted to weep with joy.  
  
"She'll be alright, Logan." I didn't open my eyes, but I knew that was Jean.  
  
"Can I stay in here with her?" His voice was more anxious than I'd ever thought possible. Now I could feel his hands on my own, folded over my stomach, protected by latex gloves. I wanted to squeeze them in reassurance, but my body wouldn't obey.  
  
"Sure," she said gently, and there was the soft whoosh of air as a door slipped open.  
  
With much effort, I was able to frame my lips together and gather enough breath for a single word. "Logan?"  
  
"Yeah," he whispered, "shhh, it's gonna be okay now, Marie. You're on the Blackbird, and we're taking you home."  
  
"Home," I repeated breathlessly, scarcely remembering what the word meant.  
  
"Go back to sleep," he said. I managed to crack my eyes open, and beheld his face lined with worry above me. I squinted, and could make out the faint tracks of tears tracing a path through the grime on his skin. My last thought as I drifted back to sleep was that I might be one of the only people who'd ever seen Wolverine cry.  
  
  
Logan:  
  
When we got her home, nothing would have made me leave her side. Jean and Xavier didn't want anyone else disturbing her as she healed, but neither one said a word to me. Only the blue dude, Hank, came in to check on her once, since he was a doctor as well. I left her side now and then just to use the bathroom, and of course it was then that she woke up, as I was about to duck back into the room.  
  
I shouldn't have been eavesdropping, and normally Jean would catch me, but she was distracted. I peeked in, and my heart jumped at the sight of her awake, alert.  
  
"I had to practically boot Logan out the door. He's been in here for three days straight."  
  
"I know."   
  
Jean bit her lip and twisted her hands in her lap. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry, Rogue--that we're all sorry for letting this happen to you."  
  
The younger woman silenced her with a raised hand. "It's not your fault, Jean, or Scott's, or anyone else's. Tell them that, please. I don't blame any of you . . . in fact, I'm just grateful that you rescued me."  
  
Jean grinned and said, "Least we could do for one of our own." Then Rogue's eyes focused beyond the telepath, on me, and I noticed how every pain and age left those green orbs. Jean turned to see me standing in the doorway. I looked a mess, with my hair all wild and my clothes filthy, but from the looks of her, my girl had never seen a sweeter sight.  
  
"Hey," she croaked, unable to keep a smile of unadulterated joy from her lips.  
  
"Hey," I responded, feeling the worried look on my face soften when she spoke.  
  
Deciding that this was her cue, Jean slipped past me under the pretense of telling the others that Rogue was awake. I knew she wouldn't do it just yet, not until we had some time alone.  
  
I crept closer and sat down in the chair beside her bed. "I was gettin' worried about you, kid." Taking her hand in my gloved one, I stroked her palm gently.  
  
"Me too," she replied with a shaky grin.   
  
"Everything okay up there?" I put the other hand to her temple, wanting to touch every part of her at once, reassure myself that she was safe. That she was here.  
  
"Better than it's been in a long, long time." Her fingers tightened around mine. "Thank you, Logan--I know you were the one who found me."  
  
I pulled away, the deep sense of shame that had festered for five years rearing up to strike. "You shouldn't be thanking me, you should be cursing me--I'm the one who got you into this mess. If you hadn't come to get me at Alkali Lake--"  
  
"Don't play that game," she interrupted, a streak of anger flashing in her eyes. " 'I could have done this, I should've done that'--it's all the past, and that's where it should stay."  
  
"But I promised I would take care of you--"  
  
"And you did." Her voice was filled with soft finality. "You came back for me, right?"  
  
I felt soothed by the truth in her words, and nodded.   
  
"And now," she said, patting my hand excitedly, "I have a surprise for you. Help me up."  
  
"Are you sure?" I asked, helping her ease up so that her back was straight against the pillows in a sitting position. "You're still pretty weak . . ."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Don't go all mother hen on me, Logan. Sit still." She took my hand again, and pulled off the glove. I raised an eyebrow, curious, but didn't flinch. Slowly, slowly she pressed her hand to mine, stroking the lines of my palm, running her thumb over the ridges of my knuckles. I stared down at our joined hands, mesmerized by the sight. I looked up at her smiling eyes, a silent 'how?' on my lips.  
  
"The only good thing that came out of this whole mess," she said softly, never taking her eyes off of mind, or her hand from my grip. "No one thought it could be done, but while he was controlling my mind, that damned professor managed to isolate the part of me that's separate from my mutation, that's just Marie. And all I have to do now is bring her out."  
  
Still speechless, I reached out with a shaking hand to caress her cheek. Eyes sparkling, she leaned forward and kissed me. She tasted like . . . everything I'd ever found wonderful, and something new.  
  
"I still love you, Logan," she murmured against my cheek. "If you want me, I'm all yours."  
  
I laughed harshly, my lips brushing her hairline. "Me not want you? I just wonder why you'd want a broken old man like me."  
  
"Not old," she said firmly. "And not broken, either--cracked, maybe, but I can fix that." And I kissed her again just for that, feeling lightheaded.  
  
When she broke away I laughed aloud, and she flung her arms around my neck. Gradually we became aware that we were being watched, and I turned around to snarl at the onlookers.   
  
"You've got ten minutes," I growled, squeezing Marie's hand possessively. Then I stepped back and let her embrace her friends. It was enough to hold her in my eyes, after so long. She was home again, and so was I.  
~~~~~~~~  
She could barely walk, but refused to spend another night in the medical bay, so I carried her up to my room. We lay curled together for a few hours and talked quietly about things--what had gone on at the mansion while she was gone, and a little bit of what she had suffered. Then Marie drifted to sleep, my arms draped around her as if I would never let go. And I certainly didn't intend to.  
  
I awoke the instant her limbs began to twitch.  
  
I rolled over onto my side and scanned her face frantically, trying to decide if it was better to let the dream run its course or to wake her up. It was made for me when she started to sob and cry out, and I shook her gently awake.  
  
She tossed her head violently from side to side and pushed me away in a panic. Her eyes opened, not recognizing me for a split second, and in that tiny amount of time I felt my heart constrict at the terror in her eyes.  
  
Then she subsided. Sitting up, she melted against me and I rocked her gently. After a few moments, her lips crept up my bare neck, to engage in a fiery kiss. She pulled back for a moment and started to lift her shirt over her head.  
  
"Whoa," I said cautiously, putting a restraining hand on her arm. "Are you sure you're up to this? You need to rest."  
  
"Yes," she said simply, a terrible need burning in her eyes, "but I need to be touched, and held, and loved, more." So I gently eased her back into the pillows, and comforted her with everything I had, every ounce of strength and beauty and love I possessed.  
  
When it was over, Marie pressed herself against my side and said in a small voice, "I've been touched before, but not . . . never without pain."  
  
My hand clenched around the sheet, and I could tell she was suddenly afraid of the anger that seethed through me palpably. "Sweetheart," I said gently, taking her face in my hands, "I would gladly gut those bastards for what they did to you."  
  
"You did," she reminded me.  
  
"True."   
  
Her fingers traced lines across my ribs. "I've been meaning to ask you--why? Why did you stop me from killing him?"  
  
"I don't know. I just . . . couldn't let you do it." Five years of what she'd been through meant she couldn't really be classified as innocent, but that was one thing about her I wanted to protect.  
  
Tightening her grip on me, she said earnestly, "I'm glad, actually. I don't think I need another life on my conscience."  
  
I thought about the tests they'd put me through, the random people they'd made me fight and kill, and I understood.  
  
That's a big part of our relationship--the understanding we possess for each other. She has my memories, and I have the firsthand knowledge of what our shared tormentors could do. So now, whenever one of us wakes in the night with faceless demons haunting our closed eyes, we don't have to speak. We just clutch each other tight in the darkness, and together we drive the demons away.  
  
  



End file.
